I’ve always felt that I grew up in the perfect era. It was the early ‘70s and the Vietnam War was coming to an end. My generation never had to worry about being drafted by the armed forces. If you wanted to join the military, it was strictly voluntary. 

While a few of my classmates chose to go in that direction, my attention was trying to get an athletic scholarship to play either football or baseball on the Division 1 level.

Let’s go back to my early years of growing up in the small East Texas town of Mt. Pleasant. As a child during this time frame, we had a lot of freedom. If you had a bike, it was this form of transportation that was basically unlimited. If you could ride your bike on it, there was no limit to where you could go. 

We woke up at daylight and were on our bikes by 8 o’clock every summer morning and only came home for lunch, or right at dark. My kids still have a hard time understanding that the only rule we had — be home when the streetlights came on. 

Parents didn’t always check on their kids. They pretty much knew where they supposed to be. My mother always knew where I was and who I was with most of the time. There was also a certain amount of trust between parents and their kids, until that trust was broken and we got into trouble. 

We lived about three miles out of town and several days out of the week, I would ride my bike for miles. I was either playing ball somewhere at a local ballpark or somebody’s back yard. We rode our bikes looking for coke bottles on the side of the road that we could trade for candy at the local country store.

We played in creeks and ditches, especially after a big rain. As friends we were always together every day and spent a lot of time playing baseball or going to the local pool. 

Occasionally, you could find me fishing at one of the stock ponds, or tanks as they call them in Texas.  If I wasn’t at one of the ponds on our ranch, our neighbor Mr. Rayford Jones, who lived across the road from our house, owned a cattle farm and allowed my brother and me along with his grandson to fish his two ponds (tanks) that were full of bass and catfish. 

Growing up in the country meant you probably had a garden to tend to. Every other day, I had to spend a couple of hours raking grass out of the garden, which was absolute torture for me. But the produce that came out of the garden was incredible, especially after dad had a load of chicken manure brought in! 

We also had about two acres around our house that had to be mowed once every two weeks. Not with a riding mower, but with a push mower! That’s right, a 14-inch cut push mower, which required at least two days to complete the job. 

I had a brother, seven years younger, who was supposed to take over the lawn cutting duties after I left home for college. Guess what showed up two days before I left home: that’s right, a Sears riding mower! 

To say I voiced my displeasure to my parents about this purchase would be an understatement. For five years I push-mowed two acres and now my little brother would get to use a riding mower! 

That being said, there were several chores demanded of me that my brother never took on. So, I guess you could say being the youngest had its privileges.

Looking back, I had an awesome childhood with more freedom than kids have today. They say it’s a different world than what my generation grew up in. I’m not sure that’s totally right. 

There’s just so much more media exposure with up to the minute news and social media sites that are always shedding light on topics most really don’t want to hear about. 

There’s always been bad people in the world who are looking to prey upon the weak. Today’s kids are growing up in a bubble of overprotection. Parents are less likely today to allow their kids to roam free like we did. 

I think kids and young teenagers today are not near as mature as earlier generations. This is due to parents being overprotective, afraid to let their kids make mistakes they can learn from. With my generation, we all had summer and part-time jobs that helped us to mature and understand responsibility at an early age. 

Our parents did a great job of preparing us for the real world. That gave us something I think is lacking with so many of today’s youth –maturity and accepting responsibility. We can only hope and pray that the generation of today will find its own path to success sooner rather than later. 

Our country is at a crossroads in so many ways today. Far left extremists continues to gain ground in small areas of the country. But I don’t think when it comes down to a national election, they will have enough support to win.

I think common sense once again will prevail with the American people,like it did back in the good ole days. If it wasn’t for today’s social media, these small pockets of far-left activists would never even be heard. In God we trust! Stay strong America!

 Contact Steve at sgraf26@yahoo.com

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A bomb discovered at a Nevada casino on Aug. 26, 1980, was supposed to be carefully dismantled by the FBI. Instead, the attempt to disarm it triggered an explosion that caused millions of dollars in damage.

The bomb had been planted at Harvey’s Resort Hotel in Stateline, Nevada, by extortionist John Birges. He demanded $3 million from the casino and built the device inside a large metal box.

When authorities discovered the bomb, FBI bomb technicians were brought in to dismantle it. During the operation, however, a mistake caused the device to detonate. The explosion tore through part of the hotel and caused an estimated $18 million in damage. 

Despite the enormous blast, no one was killed.

The bizarre incident became one of the more unusual chapters in the history of casino crime and bomb disposal. Birges was eventually arrested and convicted for the bombing.

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Human beings are amazing creatures. We can build skyscrapers, transplant hearts, send people into space, and teach a telephone to recognize our face. But ask us to do something difficult—even something we have dreamed about doing—and suddenly we become extraordinarily creative theologians.

“I would, Lord, but…”

That sentence may be humanity’s oldest hymn.

Moses certainly knew the tune. In Exodus 3, God appears to him in a burning bush and essentially says, “Moses, remember that thing you have cared about most of your life? Remember your people suffering in Egypt? Remember how you once tried to do something about it? Well, I’m sending you.”

You would expect Moses to shout, “Finally!”

Instead, Moses begins producing excuses like a Louisiana mosquito produces relatives.

“Who am I?”

“What if they don’t believe me?”

“What if I don’t know what to say?”

“I’m not a good speaker.”

And finally, when the theological arguments run out: “Lord, please send somebody else.”

That last one is refreshingly honest.

We do exactly the same thing.

“I’ve always wanted to write a book.”

Wonderful. Start writing.

“Well, I really need the right desk.”

So we buy the desk.

“Now I need the right chair.”

We buy the chair.

“Of course, proper lighting is important.”

Six months later we have a magnificent home office, three notebooks, seventeen pens, a new computer—and not one sentence.

Or maybe we have always wanted to get in shape. Monday morning arrives with all the promise of a new creation. Unfortunately, Monday is inconvenient. Tuesday looks better, except there may be rain. Wednesday is Bible study. Thursday feels too close to Friday, and everybody knows you should never begin anything major that close to a weekend.

Next Monday it is.

Church people are particularly gifted at sanctifying excuses.

“Someone ought to visit that person.”

Someone ought to.

“We really need somebody to work with the children.”

Absolutely.

“Somebody should invite that new family to lunch.”

Amen!

Apparently, “Somebody” is the busiest member of every congregation in America.

The funny thing is that we sometimes make excuses about doing the very things we have asked God to let us do.

We pray for an opportunity, and when God provides one, we say, “Not quite what I had in mind.”

We pray, “Lord, use me.”

God says, “All right.”

And suddenly we begin renegotiating the contract.

“Lord, when I said ‘use me,’ I was thinking perhaps in an advisory capacity.”

Moses discovered something important at the burning bush. God never really answered Moses’ question, “Who am I?”

Instead, God answered the question that mattered: “I will be with you.”

That is the hope for all of us excuse makers.

God does not wait for us to become fearless, eloquent, organized, perfectly prepared, ten pounds lighter, completely confident, or free next Tuesday.

God simply calls.

And when our excuses begin piling up, God keeps saying what he said to Moses:

I will be with you.

So perhaps the next time God opens the door we have spent years asking him to open, instead of developing another excellent reason why we cannot walk through it, we might take one trembling step.

We excuse makers may discover that God has already gone ahead of us.

And apparently, he is not nearly as impressed with our excuses as we are.

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Strabo was a Greek geographer born in 64 BC in what is now Amasya, Turkey.  Strabo was from an affluent family which afforded him a good education.  When he was about 21 years old, Strabo continued his education in Rome where he studied grammar, writing, history, rhetoric, and philosophy.  At some point, Strabo began writing a geography based on his extensive travels throughout the known world.  He described the people, places, animals, and collected stories from the places he visited.  He published his first edition of Geographica in 7 BC which included the story of a hetaira called Doricha.  A hetaira was a highly educated female companion who often served a variety of roles including artist, entertainer, conversationalist, and some say, prostitute.  Strabo wrote that Doricha “was bathing, an eagle snatched one of her sandals from her maid and carried it to Memphis; and while the king was administering justice in the open air, the eagle, when it arrived above his head, flung the sandal into his lap; and the king, stirred both by the beautiful shape of the sandal and by the strangeness of the occurrence, sent men in all directions into the country in quest of the woman who wore the sandal; and when she was found in the city of Naucratis, she was brought up to Memphis, and became the wife of the king.”  In his story, Doricha became the queen of Egypt.  I must stress that there is no evidence that there ever was a queen of Egypt named Doricha.

Strabo’s tale has been told and retold through the centuries.  In 1634, Italian Giambattista Basile published a notable version called La Gatta Cenerentola in his book entitled Il Penatamerone.  Cenerentola derived from the Italian word “cenere” which meant ash or cinder because the clothes of servants at the time were usually soiled by ash or cinder because of their cleaning duties.  In his version, the first to be published in the Western world, Basile changed Doricha’s name to Zezolla.  In 1697, Frenchman Charles Perrault published an even more embellished version of the tale in his book which translates to Histoires ou contes du temps passé (Histories, or Tales of Past Time).  Perrault changed her name from Doricha to another name which was a reference to her clothes being dirty.  It is Perrault’s embellished version of Strabo’s 2,000-year-old tale that we all know because he added a magic pumpkin, a fairy godmother, and a glass slipper.  Perrault called her Cendrillon, but we all know Doricha as Cinderella.   

Sources:

1.     Strabo, The Geography of Strabo, trans., Boox XVII, P. 93, accessed August 16, 2026, https://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/e/roman/texts/strabo/17a3*.html.

2.     Giambattista Basile, Il Penatamerone, trans., Chapter VI, Gutenberg Project, accessed August 16, 2026, https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2198/2198-h/2198-h.htm#chap06.

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As an angler who has fished it all: BFL’s, Toyota Series, ABA Solo 150’s, ABA Pro League, Bassmaster Opens, Fisher’s of Men, Media Bass, Angler’s Choice and too many others I just can’t remember, I can say that some of these were great tournament trails and some were just OK.   

Now don’t get me wrong, there’s never been a circuit that I didn’t enjoy, but there’s an issue I would like to address. Major League Fishing (MLF) is taking the BFL’s from a pro/am draw format and making it a team/solo trail, hoping they can get their numbers up. 

Do we really need another team trail? I think I speak for a lot of anglers who still like to fish solo/individual trails and the last thing anglers need is another team trail as we have too many already! Since the demise of ABA dropping the Solo 150 and the Pro Leagues, the only remaining individual trails are the Bassmaster Opens and the Toyota Series. 

Both of these are very expensive with the Toyota’s costing an angler on the pro side $1,700 per event while the B.A.S.S Opens will cost you $2,000. The BFL was considered an entry level circuit designed for the working man but will now cost you $500 per event as a team/solo entry. 

Years ago, the BFL’s would draw a full field of 200 boaters (which used to be the case) due to the low entry fee, but their payback was the worst of any circuit out there as they took part of BFL’s money to help support its upper-level circuits, therefore shorting the anglers supporting the BFL’s. 

Another issue has been that ever since the “Live Scope” controversy started, BLF participation has gone down dramatically as so many anglers refuse to participate in events where this technology is allowed. Boaters and co-anglers walked away faster than a hook set. 

So, after a few years of low turnouts for the BFL’s, Major League Fishing (MLF) will be taking this circuit in a totally different direction. I hope they thought this through as it has just eliminated the last remaining pro/am circuit for the lower level of tournament bass fishing. 

As an angler who loves fishing a solo/individual circuit, I really wish MLF would have put the same amount of guaranteed first place money of $10,000 and kept the original format of a pro/am circuit. Anglers would have flocked for this kind of guarantee! 

The next issue is the fact that there will be no limit on using forward-facing sonar (FFS) for 2027 when fishing the BFL Team Trail. This will bring out many of the younger anglers who have grown up using FFS. But one thing I wish MLF would adopt for 2027 is only allowing the use of FFS every other tournament like Bassmaster does with their schedule. 

This would help to level the playing field especially with the older generation of anglers particularly on lakes where local anglers tend to dominate. As far as what to do with forward-facing sonar in the long run, we may not have a choice as some states, starting with Florida, are looking to ban FFS altogether. 

If this happens, other state organizations will follow suit and implement the same rule. Then FFS will no longer be an issue for tournament organizations to deal with. 

I’m so tired of talking about it and yet no matter what decisions are made from ANY organization, everyone has their own opinion if this technology is good or bad, as the division continues nationwide on this topic. 

It appears this year’s three-hour FFS rule for the BFL’s and the Toyota Series has been the most popular and if that’s the direction they want to go, so be it … I DON’T CARE! Even if they choose to take it away completely… I DON’T CARE! Just make a decision, stick with it and move on! 

I know this article will draw some comments and I welcome everyone’s opinion. We have enough team trails nationwide and need more solo or individual circuits to help balance things outs and give anglers another option. 

Good luck, good fishing, stay cool and be safe out there if you’re going to brave the heat to wet a hook. 

Contact Steve at sgraf26@yahoo.com

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“Do you hear what I hear?”

It is a little early for Christmas music, but that old Christmas song has been running through my mind this morning.

I am sitting in my new little 4-by-6-foot office, practicing my pastor emeritus skills. Apparently one of those skills is sitting still long enough to notice what is going on around you. After years of meetings, sermons, phone calls, hospital visits, committee reports, and somebody always needing to know where the extension cord is, sitting quietly feels almost suspicious.

But this morning, I am listening.

Right now, the church building is silent. That will change soon.

Today is the first day of school for our preschool children. We have 104 children enrolled, which means that in a little while this silence is going to disappear. I expect to hear laughter, crying, little feet running down hallways, teachers giving instructions, parents saying goodbye, and perhaps one child announcing loudly that he absolutely does not intend to participate in whatever has been planned for him.

In other words, I expect to hear life.

And I cannot wait.

While I sit here listening for those sounds, another question occurs to me:

What are we listening for? And who are we listening to?

Jesus talked a surprising amount about listening.

Again and again he said, “Let anyone with ears listen.” He told his disciples to pay attention to what they heard. And in John’s Gospel Jesus described his relationship with us this way: “My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me.”

Apparently discipleship involves more than talking.

That includes prayer.

We usually think of prayer as talking to God, and certainly it is. We bring God our worries, hopes, fears, families, decisions, illnesses, disappointments, and dreams. We pray because we believe God listens and responds because God loves us.

But here is the harder question:

After we finish talking, do we listen?

Sometimes my prayers resemble leaving a voicemail for God.

“Lord, here are the problems. Here is what I need. Here is what I think you ought to do. Thank you very much. Amen.”

Click.

And then I am off to the next thing.

Maybe prayer occasionally needs a little silence at the end.

“Speak, Lord. I’m listening.”

Perhaps God’s answer will come through Scripture. Perhaps through another person. Perhaps through an unexpected thought, a nudging of conscience, a door opening—or closing. And sometimes God may simply give us the quiet assurance that we are loved and that we do not walk alone.

Soon the hallway will be filled with 104 little reminders that silence does not last forever.

But for this moment, it is quiet.

So I am listening.

Listening for children.

Listening for life.

Listening for God.

There is great joy in discovering that amid all the noise of this world, the Shepherd is still speaking.

The question is not only, “Do you hear what I hear?”

The better question may be:

Are we listening?

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More than a century before commercial air travel became routine, Orville Wright was born Aug. 19, 1871, in Dayton, Ohio.

Orville Wright would go on to become one of aviation’s most important pioneers alongside his brother, Wilbur. The Wright brothers developed and flew the first successful powered airplane in 1903, changing transportation and opening a new chapter in human history.

Their achievement did not come easily. The brothers spent years studying flight, building gliders and conducting experiments before successfully controlling a powered aircraft.

Orville’s Aug. 19 birthday is also shared by another name associated with groundbreaking technology: Gene Roddenberry, creator of “Star Trek,” was born on the same date in 1921. Former President Bill Clinton was also born Aug. 19, 1946.

Aug. 19 has been the date of several other notable moments in history, including the 1812 battle in which the USS Constitution defeated the British ship HMS Guerrière and earned the nickname “Old Ironsides.” In 1960, the Soviet Union launched Sputnik 5, carrying two dogs that became the first animals to survive an orbital flight and return safely to Earth.

But for aviation, Aug. 19 carries a particularly fitting connection: it marks the birth of the man who, with his brother, helped turn the dream of human flight into reality.

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Rachel lived on the island of Saint Croix in the Caribbean.  She married Johann Lavien and they had a son named Peter, but Johann was such an abusive husband that Rachel left for her own safety.  In retaliation, Johann had her imprisoned for adultery.  Upon her release, Rachel sailed from Saint Croix to another island in the Caribbean called Saint Kitts.  There, she met a Scottish trader named James.  Shortly thereafter, Rachel’s father died and left her a seaside lot on the nearby island of Nevis.  She and James moved there together but could not marry because she was still technically married to Johann.  Rachel had two sons with James, James Jr. and Alex.  After a little over ten years together, James abandoned Rachel and his children.  Some historians argue that James left to protect Rachel and their illegitimate children from legal action brought on by Johann.  Whatever the reason, Rachel and her two sons sailed back to Saint Croix.  Three years after James left, Rachel and Alex contracted yellow fever.  Alex made a full recovery, but Rachel did not.  She died at the young age of 39.  

Things went from bad to worse.  James Jr. and Alex became orphans.  Because she was still married to Johann at the time of his death, he had control of her estate.  Johann sold all of Rachel, James Jr., and Alex’s possessions in an auction.  For a few months, James Jr. and Alex lived with their cousin, Peter Lytton, until he died by suicide.  James Jr. became an apprentice to a carpenter and Alex became a clerk at an import/export company on the island.  Alex was not yet a teenager.  

On one hot August day, a powerful hurricane devastated Saint Croix and changed the course of Alex’s life.  Well, not the hurricane itself, but a letter Alex wrote which described the hurricane.  Alex wrote the letter to his father.  Alex’s mentor, a minister and newspaper editor, was impressed with the letter and published in the local newspaper.  “Honoured Sir,” Alex Wrote, “I take up my pen just to give you an imperfect account of one of the most dreadful Hurricanes that memory or any records whatever can trace, which happened here on the 31^st ultimo at night.”  Ultimo was short for “in the previous month.”  As he neared the end of his letter, Alex wrote, “I am afraid, Sir, you will think this description more the effort of imagination, than a true picture of realities.  But I can affirm with the greatest truth, that there is not a single circumstance touched upon, which I have not absolutely been an eyewitness to.”  When the people of Saint Croix read the article, they were also impressed.  Those who knew Alex knew he was illegitimate and uneducated, but they knew how hard he worked.  They paid for Alex to come to North America for a proper education and to give him a chance at a better life.  Alex did not squander the opportunity.  While in college, war broke out and Alex joined the military.  Within a short time, he was promoted to lieutenant colonel because of leadership abilities and became the chief staff aid to the general in charge of the whole war.  After the war, Alex became a delegate to Congress, practiced law, and founded a bank.  When the general he served under became President of the United States, he chose Alex as his Secretary of the Treasury.  Because of this position, those of us who still carry cash can see him on our $10 bills.  Alex, that illegitimate orphan who achieved the American dream, who was a signer of the U.S. Constitution, was Alexander Hamilton.  And it all started because of a letter to his father. 

Sources:

1.     Susan B. Barnes, “Walk in the Footsteps of Alexander Hamilton on This Tiny Caribbean Island,” Smithsonian Magazine, August 23, 2017, https://www.smithsonianmag.com/travel/alexander-hamilton-nevis-caribbean-island-180964047/.

2.     “Alexander Hamilton to the Royal Danish American Gazette, 6 September 1772,” National Archives, https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-01-02-0042.

3.     The Royal Danish American Gazette, October 3, 1772.

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We have reached the six-week mark after heart surgery and things are slowly getting back to normal, or close to what normal used to be. Once you’ve gone through open heart surgery, life is never the same. There are still many challenges I’m looking to conquer, and some will only be conquered with time. 

The physical challenges were tough, especially right after surgery, with all the tubes hanging out of my chest and just trying to find the right position to be comfortable. But once those tubes were taken out two days after surgery, I was a new man as it was such a stress relief to have those removed. 

One pleasant surprise has been the lack of pain. Every person I talked with who had been through open heart surgery said the leg where they take the vein out would be painful and hurt a lot. Well, not for me. I have not had the first ounce of pain from day one. While the chest has been sore, no pain there either! Just a lot of discomfort, especially when trying to lie down. 

Now don’t kid yourself, a slight cough or sneeze can send you to a place of pain that will remind you of some form of torture. The best relief for this is to squeeze the heart-shaped pillow they issue after surgery, as it truly becomes your best friend. 

But even more difficult for me have been the mental challenges that come with this type of surgery. My body has gone through a complete transformation with a weight loss of 30 pounds while trying to adapt itself to all the new changes and medicines. 

Anxiety was extremely high after returning home, not having nurses checking your vitals every hour of the day and night. When they say the mind is a very powerful thing, it’s true, as your mind tends to race and wonder 24/7. Emotions run high and rampant as one minute you’re crying and the next you’re so happy you’ve survived.

Trying to sleep at night has been my biggest challenge as I’ve truly been afraid I would stop breathing if I fell asleep. Taking a nap was a major challenge even though I knew and understood that my heart was as good as new. I had trouble trusting myself and the work I had done on me. 

Next is the adjustment to the medications … and I mean lots of medications. I think this also plays a huge role in your mental stability as it’s just another thing your body must adapt to. 

Now that we are at the six-week mark post-surgery, things are getting much better daily. The anxiety issues have slowly faded away especially since I have a low dosage of medication for that. 

But sleeping at night continues to be an issue as I tend to wake up every night at 3:00. Some nights, I’ll eventually go back to sleep and other times I’ll turn on the TV and just lay there hoping to fall back asleep.

This is very frustrating as I end up taking a long nap during the day just to regain energy. Food is still the enemy for me as nothing tastes like it’s supposed to. Soups seems to be the one thing I tend to like over anything else. 

Presently, I continue to try solid food, even the things I really enjoyed before the surgery. Slowly the appetite is returning, and things are starting to taste better even though I’m on a low sodium diet. 

One thing I have taken a liking to … chocolate protein drinks! These are really good and tend to make me feel full. Lately, I’ve been drinking one of these at some point during the day. Before I do my morning walk, I’ve learned that it helps to have some form of solid food for breakfast as it really helps my energy level. 

Again, while things are getting better and I continue to gain more strength, getting back into a routine has been very important in my metal state of mind. Hopefully this week my doctor will give me the OK to start driving again and regain some of my independence. My wife, Sherrie, has been an excellent chauffeur!  

Here’s some food for thought. Not too long ago, I wrote an article about how we all need a purpose in life. Well, it’s during times like this when having a purpose is more important than ever as it helps to occupy the mind. Hopefully soon, things will get back to what I used to call normal. 

 Contact Steve at sgraf26@yahoo.com

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This article is well used and true. I hope I express gratitude to those who teach, especially children like I was.

I was an underachieving little hellion.

In the Baptist church, they practically drew lots to see who’d be stuck with me in Sunday school. I was the kid teachers prayed would be absent — and when I was present, they prayed harder. A lesson on the Hebrews wandering in the wilderness could, under my creative influence, end with a John Wayne shootout at high noon with the Philistines. More than one Baptist teacher quit and joined the Methodists for the sake of their sanity.

Elementary school wasn’t much different. Recess was the only part that made sense: there was a ball, you kicked the ball, and then you ran. That was education at its finest. The only reason to go back inside was Cindy Stinson sitting on the second row. All the boys loved Cindy. On Valentine’s Day she received real cards and real candy — the kind that didn’t come from the drugstore clearance bin. Naturally, we all tried to impress her. Some boys used charm. I used classroom destruction. Standing in the corner meant standing closer to Cindy, and I became an expert at slapping chalkboard erasers together like a man auditioning for janitorial percussion.

My report cards were a cry for help. My teachers were frustrated. My mother was frustrated. The school janitor was probably frustrated. I was not inspired by the academic process — unless the academic process involved recess or Cindy Stinson.

Then came fourth grade.

My teacher was Mrs. Sarah Napps, a legend whose career stretched back to the 1930s. She had taught my uncle, my mother, and half the county. She was also my mother’s piano teacher, which meant she had already survived one generation of my family. For reasons I still can’t fully explain, I took a shine to her. Maybe it was her grandmotherly demeanor. Maybe it was the mythical tales of her teaching prowess. Maybe she simply had the courage of a woman who had seen everything and feared nothing.

One afternoon, during a parentteacher conference, she invited me into the room. She looked at me — not through me, not past me — and said, “You are a smart young man. I think you can do much better in school. I expect you to do much better. You’ve made progress, and I’m proud of you. But I want you to work harder, and I know your grades will improve.”

I don’t remember anything else from that meeting. All I heard was: She believes in me.

And that changed everything. Not overnight — I didn’t suddenly become a scholarly saint — but the ship began to turn. The boy who weaponized chalkboard erasers discovered the rudiments of selfcontrol. The child who terrorized Sunday school found a teacher who saw potential instead of problems.

School has begun again for many students. I’m praying for our teachers — especially the ones who must deal with “that child.” I pray they have patience, wisdom, and the courage to place high expectations on their students. Children rise to — or sink to — the expectations set by the significant people in their lives.

My life was changed by a teacher.

And maybe that’s why the stories I love best about Jesus begin with one simple word:

“Teacher”

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On Aug. 12, 1851, Isaac Merritt Singer was granted a U.S. patent for improvements to the sewing machine, marking an important moment in the development of an invention that would change how clothing and other goods were made.

Singer was not the first person to invent a sewing machine. However, his improvements helped create a machine that was practical and commercially viable for home use. His patented machine used a straight, vertically moving needle and a reciprocating shuttle to create a lockstitch.

Singer’s patent, U.S. Patent No. 8,294, was issued on Aug. 12, 1851. The machine incorporated several improvements, including a mechanism to help tighten the stitch and changes to how thread was controlled and supplied.

The development of the sewing machine had an impact far beyond the workshop. Singer’s company helped turn the sewing machine into a consumer product, making it increasingly accessible to families. The company also offered installment payment plans, encouraging more households to purchase machines.

Today, sewing machines are commonplace, but on Aug. 12, 1851, a patent helped advance a technology that would eventually bring mechanical sewing into homes across the country.

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Kerrie grew up as an only child on a farm in Benoni near Johannesburg, South Africa.  She said that “violence and turmoil was…everyday life” in Johannesburg.  There were riots in the streets because of apartheid.  Her home life was often filled with violence and turmoil as well.  Kerrie’s father, Charles, was an alcoholic to the degree that he built his own elaborate bar in the family home.  It was there that he spent most of his time.  When his drinking got the better of him, Charles would go missing for days and sometimes weeks at a time.  When he eventually returned, he and Kerrie’s mother, Gerda, engaged in what Kerrie called “verbal abuse” against each other.  Charles would throw lamps, furniture, and whatever else was close at hand, but never physically abused Kerrie or her mother.  After the fights, Charles and Gerda would not speak to each other for weeks.  The silence tortured Kerrie.  She was even too afraid to say good morning to her parents.  Kerrie thought Charles being verbally abusive toward her and her mother was normal.  Gerda had installed lockable steel doors in each room of the house except for Kerrie’s just so they could escape if necessary.  At the time in South Africa, divorce was not culturally accepted.  

Tension within the family continued to grow.  When Kerrie was around 13 years old, her mother sent her to a boarding school to get her out of the house.  When school was not in session, Kerrie’s mother took her to the movies to get her away from home.  On June 21, 1991, when Kerrie was 15 years old, she and her mother went to a movie to escape.  They returned to find that Charles had left and had locked the outer steel door on their house.  Without her door key, Gerda and Kerrie located Charles at his brother’s house.  Charles and his brother were both intoxicated.  Kerrie was in dire need of a bathroom and ran through her uncle’s house without speaking.  To Charles, Kerrie had disrespected her elders.  Kerrie said that “this was the straw that broke the camel’s back.”  After a heated argument, Gerda and Kerrie returned home.  Within minutes Charles and his brother arrived at the home.  Kerrie ran to her room and turned off the light in hopes that her father would think she was asleep.  Kerrie’s mother quickly locked all the steel doors in the house to keep Charles away from them.  One by one, Charles fired a pistol through the steel doors and made his way to Gerda and Kerrie.  Charles was going to kill them both.  Gerda retrieved a pistol from their gun safe and ran into Kerrie’s bedroom.  They used their bodies to push against the steel door.  When Charles was unable to force the door open, he began firing his pistol at the door.  Charles’s drunken brother encouraged him to continue.  Somehow all the bullets missed Kerrie and her mother.  When Charles ran out of bullets, he yelled that he was going to get his shotgun from the safe and walked away from the door.  Kerrie’s mother opened the door and fired a single shot down their hallway.  The bullet ricocheted and struck Charles’s brother in the hand.  Gerda ran toward the room where the gun safe was kept and Kerrie followed.  As Charles was opening the gun safe, Gerda fired her pistol.  That fatal shot forever ended the family turmoil and saved hers and Kerrie’s lives.  Investigators concluded that Gerda had acted in self-defense.    

Kerrie left South Africa in search of a better life and she found it.  She became one of the world’s highest-paid actresses.  In 2004, Kerrie became the first South African to win an Oscar for Best Actress.  She won the Academy Award for her portrayal of a serial killer in the film Monster.  Kerrie was the childhood nickname of actress Charlize Theron.

Sources:

1.      “How Charlize Theron Overcame Her Dark Family Past,” Time Magazine’s The Interview, April 18, 2026, https://youtu.be/ndYSsk-P8bQ?si=6m7YMNeklm7TqZIq.

2.     “Charles Jacobus Theron,” Find A Grave, Accessed August 2, 2026, https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/109904585/charles_jacobus-theron.

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It’s that time of year when there’s not a whole lot going on in the bass fishing world. August is when there’s a lull on most tournament trails as they avoid the hot summer heat. But come September and October, trails start to crank up again with their end-of-the-season championship events. 

The goal of all anglers who fish tournament trails all spring is to qualify for the fall championship. It’s where champions will be crowned and Anglers of the Year announced. It’s also when most tournament trails reveal their new schedules for the upcoming spring. 

Most anglers make their decision on what circuit they will follow next season based on where the fall championship will be. Some like trails that stay close to home to help cut down on travel costs, while others like trails that travel more on a regional level and go to places that are known for quality fishing. 

But one thing all anglers want is to wrap up the season at a great fishing venue where they can catch a lot of fish. While most anglers would love to win a regional championship, the reality is they want a place they can enjoy and to finish out their season on a high note at a good fishery. They want a great experience! 

Most bass tournament trails also want to send anglers to great fishing destinations where anglers are rewarded for making the championship. But every once in a while, some circuits will send anglers to a place like the Red River, a body of water that tends to level the playing field with its diversity as a fishery.  

Any time you go to places like Toledo Bend, Sam Rayburn, Grand Lake, or maybe Texoma, there are a handful of anglers who frequent those bodies of water, giving them a distinct advantage going into the event, and potentially making them harder to beat. 

River systems like the Red or the Arkansas River are places that aren’t as popular and tend to give more anglers a shot at taking home a win. Certain lakes like Arkansas’s Lake Ouachita and East Texas fisheries like Lake of the Pines or Lake Palestine are also places that are great for championship events. 

But there’s also another huge factor that determines where a tournament trail will have its championship event. What city or community will be willing to put up the money to host these events? Yep, that’s right, it all comes down to who will foot the bill to host these major tournaments. 

While these championship events bring in a lot of money over a weeklong period, it’s also great exposure for the local community. Most of the time, the standard of “how good is the fishery” falls way down on the list of things most important deciding who gets to host a championship event. Sure, the trail owners want all the anglers to have a good time, but in reality, it’s all about the money. 

Other priorities a host community must provide are free hotel rooms for the entire staff that it takes to put on one of these championship events. They must have adequate boat ramp facilities and plenty of lodging options for anglers. 

Here’s the bottom line. When anglers sign up for a particular tournament trail, the location of the season-ending-championship is very important. It’s a pride thing for all anglers to know they have qualified for the championship, as it means they have had a very good season. 

For most anglers, these championship events are a great way to end the fishing season. It also means fall is right around the corner as anglers trade in their rods and reels for bows, rifles and shotguns. 

They prepare to hit the woods and enjoy some great hunting. Bass boats will be parked, deer stands will be cleared of unwanted wasps, while duck blinds will be dressed, and four-wheelers will be cranked … because tournament anglers aren’t just bass fishermen, they are outdoorsmen who love the outdoors no matter what season it is. 

Contact Steve at sgraf26@yahoo.com

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There are few places in life where a person feels quite as vulnerable as the dental chair. Reclined, mouth open, bib clipped on like a toddler at mealtimes, we are reminded—sometimes painfully—that even the strongest among us can be brought to our knees by a stubborn molar. Recently, during a stretch of extensive dental work (the kind they do before you get dentures), I found myself reflecting on forgiveness, sin, and the curious ways God uses everyday experiences to get our attention.

There I was, gripping the armrests “with my teeth clenched,” even though the dentist had politely asked me not to clench anything. As drills whirred and suction tubes slurped, I realized how much of life feels like this: uncomfortable, exposed, and out of our control. Sin works the same way. It sneaks up on us, decays what we thought was solid, and before long we’re dealing with something far more extensive than we ever expected.

The hygienist cheerfully said, “We’re just going to get down to the root of the problem.” I almost laughed. Isn’t that exactly what God does with us? Grace doesn’t just polish the surface; it goes deep, right to the root. It addresses the infection, the hidden places, the things we’d rather keep tucked away. And like dental work, grace can feel intrusive before it feels healing.

As the dentist worked, I thought about how often we “bite off more than we can chew,” how frequently we “grit our teeth” through situations we caused ourselves, and how easy it is to “sink our teeth” into resentment. Sin has a way of leaving us spiritually toothless—unable to chew on the Word, unable to speak truth without wincing, unable to smile without feeling the ache of what’s broken.

But here’s the good news: God is the Master Dentist of the soul. He doesn’t shame us for the decay; He simply says, “Open wide.” And when we do, He gets to work—cleaning, restoring, reshaping. Forgiveness is His anesthetic: it numbs the sting of guilt and gives us courage to face the deeper work. Grace is His reconstruction: building us back up where life has worn us down. And mercy? Mercy is the gentle rinse that washes away what we cannot remove ourselves.

When the appointment finally ended, the dentist said, “You’re going to feel better once the healing kicks in.” I knew he meant my mouth, but I heard something more. Forgiveness doesn’t just fix what’s broken; it frees us to heal. It lets us smile again—really smile, not the tight-lipped kind we give when we’re still hurting.

So if life has left you feeling like you’re in the dental chair—exposed, anxious, and aware of your own decay—take heart. God’s grace is already at work. And when He’s finished, you’ll walk out renewed, restored, and ready to sink your teeth into joy again.

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One of the most influential figures in space exploration was born on Aug. 5, 1930.

Neil Armstrong, who would become the first person to walk on the moon, was born in Wapakoneta, Ohio. His interest in aviation began at an early age, and he earned his student pilot’s license before obtaining a driver’s license.

Armstrong served as a naval aviator during the Korean War before becoming a test pilot and later joining NASA’s astronaut program.

On July 20, 1969, Armstrong stepped onto the lunar surface during the Apollo 11 mission, delivering the famous words, “That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”

The moon landing was watched by an estimated 600 million people worldwide and remains one of the most significant achievements in human history.

After leaving NASA, Armstrong taught aerospace engineering at the University of Cincinnati and served on several national commissions related to aviation and space exploration.

Armstrong died on Aug. 25, 2012, at the age of 82, but his legacy continues to inspire generations of scientists, engineers and explorers.

Each year, Aug. 5 marks the anniversary of the birth of the man whose historic first steps on the moon changed the course of history.

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Each summer we discuss the unbearable heat as if we have somehow forgotten from previous years.  This is nothing new.  Our ancestors complained about it too.  For thousands of years, people in our hemisphere have linked the hottest days of summer, which are often times of drought, disease, and unrest, with astronomy and folklore.  Our ancient ancestors paid more attention to the stars in the sky than we do today.  During July and August, ancient keen observers noticed that a bright star appeared in the eastern sky just before dawn.  Aside from the Sun, it was the brightest star in the sky.  They concluded that the sweltering temperatures were produced by a combination of the heat from the Sun and this star which they named “Sirius,” the Greek word for “scorching.”  The Greeks and Romans believed Sirius was responsible for drought, fever, general discomfort, and a host of other unfortunate occurrences.  Ancient Egyptians believed that the appearance of this star which they called “Sothis” signaled the annual flooding of the Nile.  Egyptians depended on the annual flood because it delivered nutrients to the otherwise infertile land.  

Today, Sirius is seen as little more than a curiosity.  If you look to the east in the pre-dawn hours, you can spot Sirius, the brightest star in the constellation Canis Major, which is Latin for “greater dog.”  Because Sirius is the brightest star in the night sky and the brightest star in the “greater dog,” it became known as the “Dog Star.”

Through the centuries, as our understanding of astronomy and knowledge in general improved, the old superstitions slowly faded away.  Well, mostly.  While trying to beat the heat this summer, you will undoubtedly hear an ancient folklore phrase based on Sirius’s appearance in the sky which has been spoken for millennia.  Most people mistakenly associate the ancient phrase’s meaning with laziness brought on by heat and humidity.  However, this phrase links the period of time when, as ancient people incorrectly believed, the Dog Star and the Sun combined forces to produce sweltering, almost unbearable heat.  That phrase which you will undoubtedly hear this summer, which has been repeated every summer for years, refers to July and August as being the Dog Days of summer. 

Source: Catherine Boeckmann, “What Are the Dog Days of Summer? Meaning, Dates & History,” The Old Farmer’s Almanac, June 19, 2026, accessed July 26, 2026, https://www.almanac.com/content/what-are-dog-days-summer.

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Now into Week 4 of recovery from quadruple bypass surgery and I’m slowly getting some energy back. My appetite is also returning after losing close to 20 pounds. Quality, deep rem sleep is hard to come by, but the anxiety issues are getting better. 

Enough about all that, let’s talk about things to do during the dog days of summer. While health wise, I’m still a few weeks away from dropping my boat in the water and getting back to serious fishing, now is a great time to head into my fishing man cave and reorganize, clean and respool a few reels for some good fall use. 

After a busy spring tournament schedule my fishing man cave is a disaster. Bags of baits that should be on pegs are laying everywhere. I’ve got tackle boxes scattered all over the room that also need to be placed on a shelf. 

Some of my crankbait boxes need to be gone through to consider certain baits that might need to be replaced. It’s also a great time to check the hooks and replace those old treble hooks with new ones. This is one area anglers can sometimes overlook until they lose a few fish, and it costs them a high finish. 

Outside the fishing man cave, another thing anglers have to be conscious of this time of year, with temperatures reaching the mid to upper 90’s, is leaving soft plastic baits in your boat. Point being, high temperatures will melt soft plastic lures making not only a mess but costing you money. 

Hopefully you’re fortunate enough to park your boat under a carport or inside your garage. But even in the garage, temperatures can reach extreme highs. I have a large fan that I run daily in my garage to help keep the temperature down. 

If I know that I won’t be fishing for quite a while during those hot summer days, I’ll remove the soft plastic baits from my boat and store them in my air-conditioned fishing man cave. 

After reorganizing the man cave, next I’ll take a look at the fishing reels that I have used most of the spring; clean each one as well as drop a little oil on the gears and moving parts. High dollar fishing reels only act like high dollar reels if you take good care of them.

Once your fishing man cave is in order, now is the time to get into your boat and clean it out. I take everything out of my boat so I can clean all the lockers. It’s also the time to take my spring tackle out and put my fall tackle in. 

And while you’re at it, why not clean any major carpet stains? The best thing I have found to bring your boat carpet back to looking new is shaving crème. Take a small section at a time and apply the shaving crème then scrub with a soft brush or rag. 

Let it sit for about 10 minutes, then rise with water and you’ll be amazed at how good your carpet will look. It’s also great for the new marine deck foam flooring that has become so popular.

These are just a few things to add to your summer to-do list in order to make sure you’re ready for some great fall fishing. ‘Til next time, stay cool and avoid the summer heat. 

Contact Steve at sgraf26@yahoo.com

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Walking through our preschool the other day, a little fellow proudly showed me his bandaid. He stuck out his arm like he was unveiling a medal of honor. I asked what happened. With the solemnity only a fouryearold can muster, he said, “I got a bobo.”

Case closed. Diagnosis made. Treatment applied. Healing underway.

Children are refreshingly honest about pain. If something hurts, they point to it. If they fall, they cry. If they get a scratch, they want a bandaid — preferably one with dinosaurs or superheroes, because everyone knows those heal faster.

Adults, on the other hand, become experts at hiding our wounds. We carry heart bobo’s — hurts no one can see. Disappointments we never voice. Grief we tuck behind a busy schedule. Regrets we bury so deeply we forget where we put them. Pain that we pretend isn’t there because we think grown-ups are supposed to “handle it.”

But the truth is, some of the deepest wounds don’t show up on the skin.

Isaiah wrote, “By his wounds we are healed.” That’s not poetic exaggeration — it’s the heart of the Gospel. Jesus didn’t just die for our sins in some abstract theological sense. He took on our pain, our brokenness, our hidden hurts, our heart bobo’s. The Son of God carried what we try so hard to conceal.

There’s pathos in that exchange — Christ taking our sin and sorrow, offering us freedom, and yet we humans often cling to the very things He died to release us from. It’s like walking around with a perfectly good bandaid in hand but refusing to peel off the backing.

King David prayed, “Put a new and right spirit within me.” That’s the grown-up version of holding out your wound and saying, “Lord, this is where it hurts.” It’s the courage to admit we need healing. It’s the humility to let God do what we cannot.

And here’s the soft humor of it all: If a preschooler can trust a bandaid to make a scraped elbow better, surely we can trust the Savior of the world to tend to our hearts.

So maybe today is a good day to stop pretending we’re fine. A good day to let go of what Christ has already carried. A good day to let the Healer do His healing.

After all, Jesus didn’t come to make bad people good. He came to make broken people whole.  And that includes every one of us — heart bobo’s and all.

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July 29 marks the anniversary of the death of Dutch artist Vincent van Gogh, whose life and work have become among the most recognized in art history.

Van Gogh died on July 29, 1890, at the age of 37, two days after suffering a gunshot wound in Auvers-sur-Oise, France. Although he created more than 2,000 works of art, including around 900 paintings, he sold very few during his lifetime and struggled financially while pursuing his passion for painting.

One of his most famous final works, Wheatfield with Crows, is often associated with the final weeks of his life. The painting’s dramatic sky and winding paths have led generations of art historians and viewers to interpret it as reflecting his emotional state, though scholars continue to debate its exact significance.

Van Gogh’s distinctive style, characterized by bold colors and expressive brushstrokes, later helped shape modern art. Today, masterpieces such as The Starry Night, Sunflowers and Irises attract millions of visitors to museums around the world and rank among the most recognizable paintings ever created.

Ironically, the artist who struggled to gain recognition during his lifetime is now considered one of history’s greatest painters, with some of his works selling for tens of millions of dollars at auction.

More than 135 years after his death, Vincent van Gogh’s legacy continues to inspire artists, historians and art lovers worldwide, making July 29 a day to remember one of history’s most influential creative figures.

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All Americans learned in school that we fought two wars against the British, namely the American Revolution and the War of 1812, but there was a third war that began in 1859 which has been largely forgotten.  Following the War of 1812, the United Kingdom and the United States agreed in the Treaty of Oregon that the boundary between the countries was along the 49^th parallel from the Rocky Mountains to the middle of the channel which separates the continent from Vancouver’s Island then south through the channel to the Strait of Juan de Fuca and west to the Pacific Ocean (see map).  This agreement was made by using crude maps by people who had little knowledge of the area.  Both parties were unaware that there were two distinct channels or straits, the Haro Strait and the Rosario Strait, which were divided by San Juan Island. Because of the way the treaty was written, both countries claimed right to the island and people from both countries began settling on the island. For years, tension rose as each side argued that settlers from the other side were nothing more than squatters or trespassers.  

The first shot of the war happened on June 15, 1859, when Lyman Cutlar, an American, shot and killed a British subject whom Lyman had found destroying crops in his field.  British authorities threatened to arrest Lyman and to evict all Americans from the island.  In response, American Brigadier General William Harney ordered a company of 64 infantry soldiers to the island.  When the soldiers arrived, the British Governor at Vancouver ordered Royal Navy Captain Geoffrey Phipps Hornby to take his 31-gun steam frigate HMS Tribune to remove the American soldiers.  More British warships joined the Tribune shortly thereafter, and more American soldiers were sent to the island.  For months, the British and Americans stockpiled weapons and built up their forces for the upcoming battle.  Each side drilled and fired their cannons, but they were careful not to aim at the opposing soldiers just yet.  As both sides were making their final preparations for battle, General Winfield Scott, U.S. Army commander and War of 1812 veteran, arrived and began negotiations.  General Scott proposed and both sides agreed on a joint military occupation until a final border could be agreed upon.  For twelve long, tense years, San Juan Island remained under joint military occupation.  In 1871, when Great Britain and the United States were still unable to agree on ownership of San Juan Island, they turned to Kaiser Wilhelm I of Germany who set up a three-man arbitration commission to settle the dispute.  Both sides agreed that the commission’s decision would be final.  Finally in October 1872, after nearly a year of discussions by the commission, Kaiser Wilhelm I ruled in favor of the United States.  San Juan Island belonged to the United States.  The Royal Marines withdrew the following month, and the war ended 14 years after the first shot was fired.  The war over San Juan Island was named after that British subject who was the only fatality of this war between the United Kingdom and the United States.  It is known as the Pig War.  That’s right.  This conflict between the United Kingdom and United States was set off by a squabble over a pig. 

Source: “The Pig War,” National Park Service: San Juan Island, accessed July 19, 2026, https://www.nps.gov/sajh/learn/historyculture/the-pig-war.htm.       

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by Tiffany Flournoy

Homer, La.– The Claiborne Parish School Board unanimously approved the 2026 ad valorem tax millages and set key financial structures for the upcoming school year during its regular meeting on July 9.

Nine board members voted to adopt the resolution levying property taxes across several parish-wide funds. the approved tax rates include:

• general fund: constitutional tax (5.39 mills), special operational and maintenance tax (5.22 mills), and salaries and benefits (10.13 mills).
• maintenance tax: special maintenance tax (5.22 mills).
• special funds: school district maintenance tax (9.00 mills).

The measure passed 9-0 without objection or public comment during the designated hearing portion of the meeting. board member Mark Perot was absent.

In addition to the tax roll resolution, superintendent Chris Brooks presented several routine action items for the 2026–27 school year, all of which passed with unanimous 9-0 votes:

• salary schedules: approval of the official 2026–27 salary structure.
• organizational chart: approval of an updated organizational chart requested by superintendent Chris Brooks for annual audit compliance.
• extracurricular compensation: approval of the coaching and activity supplement scale, maintaining the same rates as the prior school year.

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If I have learned nothing else over my many years of tournament bass fishing, it’s the fact that it’s a young man’s sport. Being young has its privileges, especially when it comes to energy levels and mobility. At the age of 65, I no longer hop around the boat like a rat on crack. 

Now I’m a little more cautious in making sure I don’t hang a toe getting up on the front deck of my Caymas boat.  I’m just trying to maintain my balance and make sure that I don’t fall in the lake! 

I’ve also noticed that the older I have gotten, the further it seems to be from the driver’s seat console to the front of my boat. Just putting the trolling motor in the water also requires a little more energy now, even with high-tech lift-assist-systems that trolling motors have today. 

Even tying on a new lure can be a challenge as I need my reading glasses just to see what I’m doing. Threading fishing line through the eye of a hook requires skill that used to be automatic; now it’s an adventure and a test of my patience! 

One aspect that today’s young anglers seem to do a better job of is covering water and fishing as many places as they can in a day’s time. Older guys tend to stay in one area longer and fish it thoroughly just because we don’t want to take the time or exert the energy to move. 

I have also noticed the younger generation of today are not very likely to offer much help for the older guys who might be launching their boats by themselves. 

This was something I was always conscious of during my younger days. If I saw an older gentleman trying to launch his boat by himself, I always offered a helping hand. I think it’s just the way my generation was raised, to always be looking out for the elderly.

Even today, and now that I’m the older guy at the ramp, I’ll still offer ANY angler assistance. It’s just good manners.

In today’s tournament world, I find myself trying to stay in better shape just so I can compete with these young guns. To compete on any tournament trail, you must spend time on the water. 

A good angler will practice 8-10 hours a day in the boat trying to locate as many schools of bass as he can. It’s not uncommon for the really good anglers to practice from sunup to sundown. Again, nothing will make you a better angler than time on the water! 

These are the anglers who will not only cash more checks but will also be holding up the trophy at the end of the tournament. You cannot compete in today’s bass fishing world by taking shortcuts or only fishing for a few hours a day, no matter how good you think you are. 

Another issue at my age is that some days, fishing is literally a grind and a test of your patience. The bass don’t always bite all day long and there are only a few small windows of opportunity where the bass will feed. If you’re not on the water, you will miss those opportunities. 

There will be some days that you will ask yourself, “Why am I out here?”  But these are the days that will separate the good anglers from the average ones. The good anglers will stay on the lake and make every attempt to figure out how to make the fish bite. 

This is called persistence and determination, which can go a long way in having tournament success. It’s also called focus, which I find is a lot harder to maintain as I’ve gotten older. Focus ensures that you don’t miss those windows of opportunity when you get that unexpected bite. 

One thing that has not changed, even at the age of 65, is my desire to compete. I’m still that same competitive soul who gets so much joy in a high finish and beating the younger generation. We’ve all heard, age is just a number. That’s true until you reach what you think is that age …then reality sets in.

Contact Steve at sgraf26@yahoo.com

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